


Nomen Unum

by stillwaters01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Study, Episode Related, Episode: s05e19 Hammer of the Gods, Gen, Introspection, Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillwaters01/pseuds/stillwaters01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer had many names.  But in that final moment with Gabriel, it all came down to one.  5x19 reflection/expanded scene.</p>
<p>(Originally posted 12/31/11)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nomen Unum

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.
> 
> Written: 12/30/11
> 
> Notes: This piece is based on eighteen seconds of footage near the end of 5x19 (Hammer of the Gods). I am continually blown away by Mark Pellegrino’s portrayal of Lucifer. I have always been struck by the brief moment of childlike, sobbing breathing he does right after killing Gabriel. It only lasts four seconds, but it was so powerful, I felt the need to explore it further. I also loved the following fourteen seconds of silent mourning, the wing shot, and the fluttering ashes and so, combining all that with some reflection on angelic vessels (Gabriel essentially dying in disguise instead of his true form, the irony of humans being vessels for Lucifer when he hates their existence so much), this story was born. As always, I hope I did the characters justice. Dean’s quoted dialogue is from 5x04 (The End). All other quoted dialogue is from 5x19 and does not belong to me. Thank you for reading.

 

 

 

He had many names.

 

Some were ancient, biblical: Satan, Devil, Beelzebub, Morning Star.

 

Others were more recent and creative.

 

Sam Winchester could curse a wordless blue streak at him through tearful, self-righteous eyes.

 

Dean Winchester would one day call him “an ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground supernatural piece of crap.”

 

And Gabriel called him by his preferred Latin name along with his familial role as he went from “Lucifer, you’re my brother and I love you” to, in the same breath, christening him with the all-too-human amendment, “but you’re a great big bag of dicks.”

 

_Gabriel._

 

Lucifer had _begged_ him; _warned_ him as he pleaded, “Brother, don’t make me do this.”

 

But naive Gabriel, the little brother who took off to play Trickster for millennia, insisted that no one made them do anything.

 

He was wrong.

 

Because _he_ made the final push.

 

Gabriel’s challenge spurred by human loyalty; the very existence of those flawed, human insects; Father creating those murderous creatures in the first place…….it was all because of them.

 

_They_ brought Lucifer here, to this moment.

 

_They_ made him do this.

 

And _they_ broke his heart.

 

Stabbing Gabriel with the blade that had been raised against him; looking down into eyes drowning in pain and betrayal; hearing the choked sounds of life’s final moments in a tamed, foreign voice.

 

It was all _their_ fault.

 

“Amateur hocus pocus? Don’t forget, you learned all your tricks from me, little brother.”

 

Lucifer moved Nick’s left hand to Gabriel’s face – the usurped appendage of his cruelly ironic vessel, the rage-inducing _humanity_ of those fingers bathed in the blood of so-called pagan gods; rested it alongside the cheek of the form that couldn’t hide the dying face he knew so well.

 

He thrust the blade upwards. The shrill Enochian-infused scream pierced his ears, the final flash of heavenly light seared his eyes, the dull sound of Gabriel’s body hitting the floor shrouded the room in agonizing silence.

 

Silence but for Lucifer’s ragged, breathy sobs; four seconds of raw, unbridled grief.

 

Another fourteen seconds passed – breathing controlled, sobs restrained, trembling chin only occasionally breaking through the bowed head and worn posture as he looked down to the imprint of smudged wings on the pagan-defiled ground.

 

His _little brother’s_ wings.

 

In that moment, he wasn’t the Antichrist, the root of all evil. He wasn’t a multi-denominational murderer or a fallen angel stained by fratricide.

 

He wasn’t even _Lucifer_.

 

He had _one_ name.

 

_Brother._

 

Because, for those eighteen seconds, history, prophecy, and destiny had ceased to exist.

 

Gabriel was _dead_.

 

And he was just a big brother, grieving the loss of his younger sibling, haunted by the fluttering dirge of the ashes of their lost grace.

 


End file.
